Memories of 2003

Wonders of man. Wonders of man. Love is in the air. I thought, -- thought is sick is love is draining --, driving along White Oak Drive in the Heights of Houston, a baseball park to my left and a deadened downtown in the distance, knowing so little about everything that I would later give thanks for the ignorance. I was drinking a tall boy, so happy that I left my Papa Johns visor on and was a little turned on by the fact that David Branccacio was still on the radio at 6:58 letting us know which Enron ex-exec concha-de-su-madre was being dragged downtown for a preliminary hearing.
Abandon is: Poofs from below; it is my hair the envy of old men as it is palm trees that don’t belong in Texas. Before me is the greatest thing. A girlfriend just departed for a faraway country and, well, what does she leave me? The memory of a perfect lover consigned to memory and a better-half better know’n as the bass clef as I am sitting at the piano practicing the treble. This is me when I am not me. Abandon is: Poofs from without. It is the miscreant palm tree, non-native, foreign, exotic, traitor to the adopted father and mother of Texas soil. ¡Viva!
I have then only to deliver onions and sun-dried tomatoes to 607 6 1/2th St. and the world is mine. I can swing from my porch, red swing grey porch, and the Happy You All café is mine to look on and the stray cats are mine to pity. Red heads from everywhere are mine to love. Walking out of the pottery shop on Richmond, How did I get down here?, the dyed-redhead mother-of-a-gated-condominium-birdcage is mine to imagine her younger days.
It is something, indeed something, to go home to a fragile soul that is not yours although it will be yours. Sinewy legs, greasy arms, tools carefully placed, lips so licked they are not placed, misplaced like me in Houston. Eat or be eaten is sexy to be ate.
My tall boy is sweating. I stop off at the pool hall on Washington and Ned is waiting with retard on his face. What else is new, he sure knows how to fold a box.
Ned is stock. Ned is distillation. Man without the unexpected Christmas present, he is hope that hopes to b’uy a fucking car. I feel so fucking good knowing that Ned wants to know what I want to tell him about a girl who knows nothing of this afternoon and he can get her, god knows he built one half with his hands, so who knows. Short and stupid. Channel 59, Christian doll on his mud face, Why did I come?
Nothing can spoil the fact that I have been in-and-out of every condo on this plain. I have seen the park from every angle. I have seen every blue pool gay Moroccan reiki girl Dragonball Z-latchkey Marvin Zindler senior citizen Awty ballet irong lung in the Heights, and their lease on my moment is not-even-going-to-mess-this-shit-up-cause-who-could-be-more-free. A red swing and a grey porch and cats fucking in the foundation, I can do whateverthehell. Whatever the Wonders of Man hell.